1955
by segisaurus
Summary: April 19th, 1955, a flight over the North Pacific Ocean crash lands on an uncharted island. Follows the events which lead to the placement of the cave's original inhabitants.
1. Introduction

Dear Thomas,

I guess you were right; eventually it caught up with me. We've been trapped here for weeks, and nobody's come to rescue us. I don't know if you'll ever get this message, but if you do, then I want to say that I'm sorry. We're making our way back to the caves now, but that puts any chance of rescue behind us. Take care of yourself, and take care of Christian; I know he'll grow up to be a great man, just like you.

Say goodbye to mother for me.

Yours sincerely,

Adam.

P.S. Never come looking for me. They came for us. They'll come for you.


	2. Prologue

The two men leapt swiftly in between the trees silently, their worn, brown clothing flying about their bodies. They both carried heavy, weaved sacks on their backs, clanking around on their mud-caked clothing as they bounced about in the ferns. They moved quickly, racing through the jungle, their feet making no sound on the floor. Their lank, long hair hung around their shoulders, bouncing up and down with each stride. Their facial hair had been allowed to grow for several days, and their faces were adorned with patches of dried mud. Their feet were bare, yet they paid it no attention, melting into the underbrush of the jungle as they dashed through the gaps in the trunks.

Suddenly, the trees cleared on either side, and they burst into a clearing, looking up at the bright sunlight for a moment. They stopped, and glanced at each other, their mouths unmoving. In the jungle to the west, a tree was felled, followed swiftly by a deafening clanking sound, and an almighty wail rang through the forest.

The men ignored the chittering and clanking emanating from the trees, and dashed out into the clearing. The entire space was full of activity, men and women working silently around an immense hole which had been dug into the wet soil. In the ground they could see large volumes of broken roots, hanging out into the space of the hole, where they had once run through the soil, underground. It continued down out of sight, further down than they could see from their position as the periphery of the jungle. At the edge of the hole, positioned at the lip, a series of bamboo ladders had been erected, leaning against the outer walls, allowing access down to the bottom. Below, out of sight, the sounds of metal tools on rock rang out loudly into the sky.

Off to the side, there was a large fire next to a grouping of large tents, where a single man sat, his black lidded eyes watching the proceedings carefully.

Suspended above the hole, a large piece of metallic scaffolding had been erected, rising forty feet into the air. The metal surface had become rusted from the humid, tropical air around them. Hanging down from the scaffolding, pulling against a pile of chains, groaning slightly in the breeze, was a thirty foot oblong shaped objects, slightly egg shaped at the bottom.

The men raced over towards the tents, their packages bouncing about their backs, and stopped just short of the man, sitting on a felled log. He looked up at them slowly, his black hair shining in the sun. His blue eyes watched them approach through his dark eyelashes, his clean blue shirt distinctly out of place.

"We've got it," they said in unison.

The man nodded. "Good. Charles, get it ready. Take him with you."

The men looked at each other, and made to move when a suddendeafening _boom_ rang out in the sky. All activity ceased immediately, and everybody dropped their tools, looking up into the sky, through the gap in the canopy of the jungle high above them, ignoring the glare of the sun. A bright light flashed high above them, opposite the peak of a distant mountain.

And then, as if from nothing, the sound of an aircraft propeller rang out in the sky, rising in volume sickeningly, before sinking into nothingness, before repeating. Barely visible, a small dot in the sky was raining down onto them, plummeting towards the ground, trailing smoke and fire.

The men looked at each other, their eyes narrowed. The sound of the aircraft engines faded, followed immediately by a loud explosion in the sky as the body of the plane flew overhead, thousands of feet upwards, heading towards the mountain range.

"Looks like we've got some new visitors," Charles said slowly.


	3. Chapter 1

I've written this tonight out of boredom. It's my first LOST fic, but I'm a die-hard fan of the show. If you enjoy it then please review; I may continue if I get any decent feedback. Thanks y'all.

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**April 16****th****, 1955**

_**Over the north pacific...**_

Adam grunted loudly in the cavernous space of the cockpit, sweat running down his brow as he struggled in vain against the iron cast position of the flight yoke. His hands had become numbed from the constant vibration of the hot rubber of the joystick, jumping in his grip. His knuckles were white as he attempted to overcome the slip of his fingers on the film of sweat which had coated his palms. All around him the metallic cockpit of the DC-3 shuddered and rattled, the noise of the triple bladed engines mounted on both wings reverberated inside the hollow space.

With a rumble the aircraft was buffeted against a blast of turbulence. Adam was lifted out of his seat, causing the straps wrapped around his torso to strain against his body, tethering him to the chair. He tried to turn the yoke; first up, then down, and then from side to side. He then tried to turn it in a ful 360 degrees circle. Yet nothing happened; he couldn't move it at all. The wind outside was monstrous; the howling against the windshield in front of him was deafening, even more so than the whining engines, which were being put under immense pressure.

Outside, he could barely see anything through the dense clouds. Not the sky, not the horizon, or even the sea; just blurs of nothingness. With a glance at the altimeter, he saw that they were on course and level, but he had no visual confirmation. If it were not for the instruments he would have been at a loss.

The bright sunlight outside at thirty thousand feet was blinding; and the bright red warning lights inside the cockpit made it difficult to keep his eyes focused; everything around him was a blur. Again, a blast of turbulence hit them, lasting for several seconds. It was a struggle to hold onto the yoke, and he growled.

"James, where are we?" he shouted over the howl of the wind.

Next to him, the co-pilot was lost in a pile of maps and charts, which flew hither and dither as the aircraft was thrown from left to right. He was grappling with a small blue chart, casting aside the others, trying to unfold it as he was battered in his seat.

"I don't know; we're somewhere in here, but our airspeed is too erratic to be sure."

He was pointing to an area of the northern Pacific Ocean, which he had just circled in red with a marker. It encircled around a hundred square miles, and it contained nothing but blank, blue coloured canvas.

"What the hell am I looking at?" he said.

"Nothing, just Ocean. There's nothing out here. We're over the Bering Sea; nearest land is the Aleutian Islands, but they're over an hour from here. We wouldn't make it if we needed to land there. Best to keep on going and hope it clears."

"Get on the radio, send a distress, and see if anybody's listening!" he yelled.

James grabbed for the radio transmitter, and yelled into it.

"This is Helix Flight 432, mayday, mayday; we are losing engine power and have lost flight controls, please respond."

There was a hiss of static, but no response. James spoke again.

"Repeat, this is Helix Flight 432, heading 316 degrees, co-ordinates 58,50,19 North, 171,35,17 West , mayday, we have lost control!"

Adam shook his head. "Where is this coming from? I don't see any storm front. Looks like calm skies—"

The impact was stunning. The windshield cracked instantly into an intricate spider-web pattern as they were thrown backwards, the metal moorings of their seats groaning in protest. With a _bang_ they were thrown forwards again; Adam saw a blur of colour, and the steering yoke, a split second before his head slammed into it. He felt a warm sensation explode into his mouth as blood seeped from his gums. He tried to release the flight stick with his left hand to cover his bleeding mouth, but he found that his hands were jammed in a claw-like death grip, and his fingers refused to release the rubber.

He shouted in pain through a closed mouth as he saw James fly into the roof, still in his chair, which had detached from the floor, and was now flying around loose in the cockpit. Through the cracked windshield, he could nothing of the sky outside; but a blinding white light which appeared to be emanating from the entire atmosphere.

He squinted, seeing his flesh turn pale below him, the droplets of blood on white shirt shockingly red against the monotonous light all around him.

Behind him, in the fuselage, he could hear the screams of the passengers as they were thrown around; he could hear crunches and crashes as bodies and baggage crashed around the hollow shell of the aircraft.

The engines were whining loudly, their pitch now much higher. With a glance, he looked outside at the left wing; even through the blinding light he could see that it was spewing copious volumes of black smoke.

There was a strange, twinkling sound building from nothingness, all around him. It wasn't coming from outside, or inside; it was merely emanating from the ether. He looked around warily, his senses overwhelmed by the blinding light and howl of the dying engines.

"_Jesus Christ!"_ James shouted as he unbuckled himself from his seat, which had come to rest, leaning against the instrumentation panel on their right, his forehead bleeding from a seven inch gash running from his left temple down to his right eye.

Adam looked over his shoulder as he wrenched the yoke sideways, achieving no more than making the aircraft tilt by a few degrees.

"Get back there; tell everybody to get ready. We might be jumping!" he yelled.

With a crash the cockpit door banged open, clanging against the outer wall as James dashed through the doorway, crouched low as he disappeared into the fuselage, shielding his head from falling debris.

The sound around him was building steadily; it was now louder than the wind outside. It sounded to him like a thousand distant, twinkling bells, distinctly out of place in the devastating environment.

He slammed the yoke from side to side, trying to get some control back of his aircraft. He felt his heart pounding against the inside of his chest as he sat alone in the cockpit, the broken windshield groaning against the strain of keeping back the air outside. He could feel tiny breezes seeping through the cracks onto his face; it wouldn't hold for much longer.

The yoke rattled violently in his hands, and suddenly, with a muffled explosion, the left engine spluttered. He leaned over, and swore to himself as he saw the triple bladed propeller decrease from a circular blur to an intermittent flicker. He caught glimpses of the blades themselves, a sign that the propeller was slowing, and that the engine had shut down.

A loud alarm sounded inside the cockpit, drowned out by the cacophony of other sounds. He leaned over again, just in time to see two of the blades on the engine tear off with a metallic groan, zipping back behind the aircraft in a flash, twirling down towards the ground and out of sight in the bright white light. The remaining engine didn't look good; the blades were beginning to bend; the halo effect created by the rapid spinning of the blades shrinking as the metal bent over backwards. The horrible sound of wrenching metal was barely audible over the twinkling, which was now louder than anything else.

With only one engine, he felt the aircraft begin to spin out of control; even blinded by the white light around him, he could sense the gravitational change around him; his hair falling sideways from his head as the entire plane rolled, wing over wing.

He tried desperately to counteract the roll, moving the yoke right; but to little effect.

And then, with an immense boom, the light around him pulsed to obscene brightness, forcing him to close his eyes tightly.

It was silent. The twinkling was gone. The howl of the turbulence was gone. Even the sound of the remaining engine seemed dampened. The sudden silence was deafening, ringing in his ears. As the spots of colour exploding before his eyes lessened, he chanced a peek of the air around him.

He sat up straight as he saw a bright blue sky, completely cloudless. Yet the sun was lower, and the light more orange. It was just after sunrise, and the horizon bore signs of fading pink. In the back of his mind he struggled with this information; it was the middle of the day.

They remained sideways, and were by now rolling onto the aircraft's back. His restraints tugged at his shoulders, trying to tear him down to the roof of the plane, which was now the floor. Through the broken windshield, he could see land.

There was an island below them.

Then there was a chance, he thought. There was no opportunity to land now; they'd have to ditch. The plane was now on its right side; he flexed his fingers furiously, getting ready to open the buckle of his restraints. He would have to time it correctly, and make sure that he got out into the fuselage before the aircraft rolled again. He didn't bother holding onto the stick, as the aircraft was now completely out of his control. There was no point trying to counteract it, all they had to do was get out while they could.

The glass of the windshield cracked violently, a single large shard of glass flying out and slicing at his cheek as it soared towards the back of the cockpit. The windshield groaned loudly; it would break very soon. Through the glass he could see the speed at which they were falling through the air; they were no more than ten thousand feet in the air, and only little over half of their current height was a large mountain top. If they continued on their current course they'd pass by its left ridge.

With a grunt, he unbuckled his seatbelt, feeling the aircraft level out. The metal surfaces were a blur; the alarms and red lights flashed all around him, previously unnoticed in the face of the outside terrors. He flew through the open door into the fuselage, falling out of control into the main body of the plane. He flew past an array of hissing piping, banging his shoulder against it with a crunch.

He felt a searing pain, and his arm went numb, lifeless.

With a crash he was sent careening into a row of empty passenger seats, groaning. For a moment he laid still, his temple almost comfortable angled on the armrests. He had the sudden urge to do nothing but sleep; the world around him seemed to fade away. Time had slowed for his weary mind, and through glazed, half open eyes he watched the world spin and die around him. He had time to see a female body roll past him, and impact a circular window on the opposite side of the fuselage. He had time to look at his shoulder, twitching and painful at his side. And slowly, his mind began to think again, and he realized that they were crashing.

With a surge, he felt himself being lifted into the air, and he saw James' face, his mouth shouting muffled words into his non-compliant face. He nodded numbly, struggling to stand on his feet as he was guided towards the back of the plane. The plane was already beginning to spin onto its side again, and they had to hold onto the brackets and seats to stop them being flattened against the side of the hull.

His head cleared slightly, and he saw faces turning and shouting all around him. Females and males. Two younger faces appeared momentarily before they were torn out of focus; he guessed an age of twenty or less. Older faces, of varying expressions, ethnicities and ages span, shouted and cried all around him as he struggled to make sense of the situation. There were sixteen passenger aboard, but a quick headcount told him that only eleven people surrounded him, crowding towards the rear exits, excluding himself and James.

That meant that five were missing. He turned quickly, looking for them urgently as a burly, black haired man twisted the back door open, which tore from its hinges, and disappeared into the sky. There was a sudden rush of air which tore its way into the aircraft, trying to suck them outside. Everybody dived for an anchor, Adam himself seizing the armrest of the nearest chair as he looked around desperately.

The aircraft was now on its side, and was leaning towards toppling over onto its roof again. He felt a wave of nausea as he looked around the upside down fuselage, trying to find the rest of the passengers. His body hung from the armrest in mid air, towards the roof of the aircraft. His muscles ached against the strain of holding himself up one handed, but his other arm remained stiff, and numb. The interior of the aircraft was a myriad of papers, rubbish, and empty food wrappers. Clothing twirled around in a cyclone pattern, socks and shirts flattened against the interior of the hull.

"Adam! Don't bother, they're gone!" James shouted from the open door, his voice drowned by the howl of the wind.

No, Adam thought. They were just hurt, or unconscious. But as he looked about, he saw a single arc of blood, spread vertically up the left side of the walls. A piece of the propeller from the engine had sliced through the hull; he could barely make out the remains of the seats which had been there beforehand. A vertical pizza slice of the plane was missing, only two inches wide, insulation flapping around in the harsh wind. The propeller had lodged itself into where the second row of seats had been on the right side, but they were unrecognisable. There was no sign of the other passengers. He turned away at the sight of a small lock of hair, draped over the back of one of the tattered chairs.

He turned back to group of people, flying around precariously in the confined space. The aircraft was now on its side again, and they were able to walk on the walls. James was handing out bright orange packages. Adam waited until everybody around him had one before he took his own parachute, and called for everybody to copy him as he fastened it around his waist, under his groin, and over his shoulders. He found it especially difficult with his injured arm, but sheer determination ensured that he got it on in record time.

"Okay, everybody," he shouted, "One at a time, do exactly as Mister Hadlow! Once you're out, spread your arms and legs wide, keep yourself level until you're of equal height of the mountains. Then pull the string cord right here, and its release your chute. It'll guide you down." He gestured to James, who nodded. With a sweeping look to everybody, and a comforting nod, he released his grip from the side bracket on the wall, formed himself into a ball, and leaned forwards, tumbling through the open door.

Adam lunged towards the door, and gripped the side panel, gesturing the burly man forwards. The man bore an expression of determination, his eyes set. Adam nodded to him; the man nodded back, and within a second he was gone, spreading his arms wide as he disappeared into the sky.

The plane was now level, but was beginning to spin faster; it would be rolling onto its side again in the next thirty seconds. He motioned a thirty year old, red headed woman forwards next, who bore unmistakable terror in her features.

He gripped her shoulder, and smiled to her. She didn't respond, but simply stared outside, wide-eyed. But there was no time for hesitance. Feeling an awful feeling in his gut, and a pang of guilt, he pushed her out of the door, hearing her scream briefly before she disappeared.

He looked about, and saw the rest of the people look at him fearfully, but more determined. An older man, in his fifties stepped forwards confidently, his blue eyes twinkling, his steel gray crop of hair shining in the light. Without any interaction with Adam, he curled into a ball, and leaped outside. He was slightly surprised, but encouraged by the man's readiness.

The aircraft was now completely level, and was beginning to roll over onto its right side. He could feel his feet slipping on the ground, and he groaned as he motioned a young couple forwards. They were both blonde, thin, and short; and also bore identical looks of fright.

The boy smiled to his partner, and held her at his side. She crouched down slowly, tears running freely down her cheeks. The boy abruptly grabbed her face in his hands, and kissed her on the lips, saying comforting words, drowned out by the wind.

With a flailing scream, the girl toppled from the plane, followed by the boy, who dived out gallantly, without a moment's hesitation—

_Boom!_

A muffled explosion emanated from the cockpit, and he realized, too late, that the windshield had shattered. Instantly, there was a rush of air dragged through the aircraft, running from the cockpit window, out of the open door in the fuselage. The wind was incredible; he felt the flesh of his face being mashed against his skull as people launched towards safety, away from the door.

But Adam was not so lucky.

His position next to the door meant that he bore the brunt of the colossal tornado. With a metallic squeak, his body was slammed against the inside of the hull, feeling his bones crunch against the bolts attached to the shining sheets that held the body of the plane together.

He yelled frantically as he gripped a bracket on the wall with his only working hand. His hold was poor, and he could see his white knuckled shaking. His hand slipped quickly, his knuckles sliding back over the bracket, his strength no match for the pull of the wind.

Detritus, baggage and even pieces of the aircraft were being torn out through the door from all around them, zipping outside like a midair, horrendous river. The air tore at his clothes, his shirt flapping against the wind. Slowly, his feet were dragged through the threshold of the door, and then his shins. His fingers continued to withdraw back over the bracket, and he looked over at the other passengers in horror.

And then his fingers slipped free, and in a flash he had been sucked from the plane.

His stomach rose in his torso sickeningly, and he resisted the urge to flail his limbs as he plummeted towards the ground. The shadow of the plane rocketed overhead, towards the mountain ride. He could feel himself continuing on a forwards course, accompanied by a steady downwards acceleration.

Below him he could see nothing but jungle; in the distance he could see a large field at the base of one of the mountains. He was now level with the peak of the nearest mountain, and he grabbed his cord, and pulled sharply. With a rush of fabric, a bright orange parachute exploded from his pack overhead, rushing upwards. He felt his shoulder ache sharply as he was slowed rapidly.

He gripped the chords which hung at his sides, managing to grap only one due to his injured arm, and steered himself quickly around in a circle, getting a full look around himself. Below him he could see a string of other parachutes, heading towards the large field at the base of the mountain. But off to the side, in the distance, he could see a tiny orange dot touch down at the coast of the island, several miles away, atop a lava field which ran from a distant mountain crater.

With a whoosh, he received a blast of air, and his parachute crumpled. He distantly heard an explosion, and immediately felt a surge of panic; there were still people in the plane. He'd been sucked out before he could get them out of the door. He felt a sudden rush of air on his face, and fell quickly, feeling intense dread as the parachute above him ruffled. He fell ten feet, plummeting downwards before the parachute re-inflated. He looked upwards, and saw the second engine of the plane fall down into the jungle far below, towards a small river which snaked its way across the terrain. The plane itself, now a lifeless tube, soared towards the mountain ridge, trailing open flames and smoke.

And then, to his horror, he saw a bunch of black dots fly from where the open door would be, soaring out into the air in a dense bundle. At such a distance, it was difficult to see any detail, but he was sure that the dots represented the remaining passengers, accompanied by a stream of luggage and detritus, spattered over the flight path.

To his horror, he saw one of the dots spin out of control, and slam against the tail of the aircraft. He cursed as the dot tumbled lifelessly towards the ground, through the mesh of newly opened parachutes, representing the rest of the survivors.

He took a deep breath as he looked towards the ground, and moved off towards the field, the individual trees of the jungle now clearly visible at his height of five hundred feet. Even with the parachute, he fell quickly; two of the parachutes below him had already landed on the ground, lower down the slope. But he was heading further up, near the base of the mountain. As he descended below the canopy of line of the forest, into the field, he could see that it was full of tall grass, adorned by dense groves of brightly coloured flowers.

He passed over a waving figure on the ground, jumping up and down at him. He waved back as he steered himself towards the ground. He growled to himself as he raised his legs, readying himself for impact at the base of the mountain.


	4. Chapter 2

His legs burned from the friction as he came sliding through the tall grass, his calves dragged along the loose, red/brown soil. The grass slapped at his face as he descended below its three foot height in his seated position. His parachute, still fifteen feet above him, was snagged by the wind, dragging him up the slope at the base of the mountain. He struggled against the pull with his working arm, tugging on the chord dangling down by his side. He slowed gradually, the silence ringing in his ears. The jungle around him rang with crickets, frogs and running water; a chorus of wilderness sounds; but it was mercilessly quiet relative to the crash. Adam sighed as the parachute continued to drag him uphill, towards the base of the mountain, shrouded in trees and cliff faces.

With a grunt, he unclipped the parachute from his pack, one shoulder at a time, struggling against the pull, being swung sideways as he slowly released the latches which tethered him to the chute. There was a hiss of nylon fabric, and then the parachute shot upwards, towards the mountain, unhindered by his body.

He breathed deeply as he stopped in the deep grass; face up, towards the pink, cloudless sky. He grabbed his injured arm with his other, cradling it on his chest, trying to keep it away from the grass and the ground. His heart pounded in his chest, and he felt his skin shaking all over from the adrenaline flowing through his veins. His eyes flitted about rapidly, trying to keep on top of his breathing. He held his breath for two seconds before releasing it, trying to get as much oxygen as he could, but he still had to fight the urge to pant uncontrollably. He felt a wave of dizziness wash over him as he fought panic. His body ached all over, and his head hurt. He had no urge to move, or to think; he simply wanted to lay here in the grass and look up at the sky. The sounds of the jungle gradually grew in volume as his hearing adjusted, and the sound of a slight breeze rustling the grassy field, the tall silvery blades swinging back and forth in the growing light.

He frowned at the morning sky, wondering dimly why it was morning; he was certain that it had been in the middle of the afternoon. But his mind was working slowly, and his thoughts reached no deeper than this simple observation. He breathed heavily, his chest heaving up and down, staring upwards blankly. His view was largely obscured by the grass above him, and his vision blurred, before sharpening, and blurring once more. At the periphery of his vision, towards his feet, he could see the tops of trees, swaying slightly in the wind. At his head, he could see a sharp cliff, rising steeply above the field, looming over him.

It was wet here; the grass had dew, and tiny rivers running across the green surface. His clothes were becoming wet, and soggy as he lay there in the grass, steadily getting wetter and wetter. It was a strange sensation of getting damper, a creeping cold seeping against his skin.

There was a rustle in the grass, out of sight, past where his feet were positioned. He couldn't see anything, nothing but the slight tingle of grass being parted. The blades off to his right bent over slowly in the distance, before moving back into place. He looked around, finding himself unable to speak, for his breathing was too fast. He raised his goo arm into the air, waving slowly in wide arcs.

A second rustle emanated from his other side, sweeping through the grass of the field. The first was now closer to him, sweeping back and forth, just a few feet away. He could hear the low breathing of another person, close to his position.

His throat made a grunt as he exhaled, and he tried to call out. The rustling ceased.

"Where is he?" a voice called, echoing in the grassy expanse. "I saw him land somewhere up there."

"Over here!" another called, followed by a sudden rush of footsteps.

Adam looked up as a man's face popped into view above him from behind his head. It was the gray-haired man, in his fifties. He bore scratches on his left cheek, and his business suit was ripped to shreds, but he otherwise appeared unharmed. He reached down to Adam, and lifted him into a seated position.

Adam grunted as pain shot through his shoulder, and his head was lifted above the height of the grass. He could now see out into the field. It was more expansive than he had thought. The grass extended left and right further than the horizon allowed before the curvature of the Earth blocked his view. They were boxed in by jungle on both sides, and the sheer cliff of the mountain far above them, rising several thousand feet upwards. From here he could see down the steady slope of the island towards the ocean. He could see a small crescent of pure white sand, marking the edge of a beach. Off to the right of the beach, he could see the rocky outcrop of the lava field, running out into the sea, the dark rock starkly different from the rest of the scenery, miles away.

With a rustle, another man appeared next to him, and he saw that it was the burly man who had jumped after Hadlow. He was tall, and strongly built, his meaty face creasing into a smile at the sight of Adam.

"Captain, I have a complaint to make about the in-flight entertainment," he said gruffly, breathing heavily as he ran up the hill towards them.

Adam wheezed through a laugh, and looked at them both.

"Are you hurt?" he said to them, his voice gravelly.

Both of the men shook their heads, and Adam sighed as he got to his feet, feeling his shoulder tighten in protest as he flexed. He looked up towards the mountain, high above them, the sunlight forcing his to squint, and he found that the ridge was over a thousand feet up. In the distance, nestled in a flattened ridge below the peak, cluttered with vegetation, was a thin trail of smoke, rising up from the crash site.

There was no sign of the other survivors who had parachuted in after he had been sucked out, but he had seen them deploy their parachutes, so it stood to reason that they would have landed elsewhere.

The men were looking around at the coast.

"I don't see any villages," the burly man said.

"I didn't see anything on the way down," the gray haired man called, wandering off a dozen metres towards the jungle. "Maybe this place is uninhabited."

The burly man shook his head vehemently. "No way; and island of this size? This place is huge."

The man motioned up at the mountain, which was one of many, forming a mountain range which extended off towards the island's centre.

Adam coughed as he walked through the grass. He saw his parachute some distance away, snagged in the upper branches of a lone tree in the field, dancing in the wind. The sun beat down on his neck, and he felt his skin tighten as the sweat on his body evaporated quickly.

It was hot here; the air was humid and stuffy; his pilot's uniform was already beginning to make him hot under the collar, and he shrugged off his outer jacket, lying it down in a pile on the ground, feeling the wind blow against his shirt.

He unbuttoned his cuffs, and his neck, twirling his head in the new freedom of movement.

But he was confused as to why it was hot here; it should be freezing cold, and there should be no humidity, and no tropical jungle. This place looked like it belonged at the equator, but they had been most definitely flying over the Bering sea, which was damn near the north pole, running between Alaska and Russia.

He shook his head in confusion as the men stumbled around in the grass.

"Well we need to find help," the burly man said. "Captain, where are we?"

"I don't know. We should be somewhere in the Bering sea, near Alaska, but there's no land on the map for over a hundred miles. This island is uncharted."

"Jesus, it's hot," the gray haired man said.

"Shouldn't be; it was freezing on the plane," burly said.

"It gets cold at thirty thousand feet, genius."

"Ah, shut up."

Adam held up his hands. "Listen, we sent out a mayday before we jumped, if it was received then a rescue party will be sent in the next few hours."

"What if they didn't receive it?" the gray-haired man said.

Adam looked at his watch briefly, and sighed through pursed lips. "We're due to land in Alberta in three hours. When they miss us there, then they'll start looking. So we just have to sit tight."

The men seemed contented.

"What's your name, captain?"

"Adam," he said, "Adam Sheppard."

"I'm Ted West," the gray haired man said. "What about you?"

"Matthew Thorne," burly said.

The men nodded to each other, and looked up towards the ridge.

"Where are the others?" Adam said.

Ted motioned down the slope, towards the beach, where the jungle began. At the tree line, there was a small group of orange parachutes, flattened against the ground, fluttering in the tall grass. Three small figures were moving between them, walking around in the field.

"There are two kids and a red head down there. And I saw some other chute fly off towards the coast."

Adam nodded. "That was Hadlow, the co-pilot."

"Must have been rough landing on the lava field; you think he's alright?"

Matt shrugged. "What about the others?" He pointed upwards, towards the ridge, high above them.

"They jumped too," Adam said, "I saw them." He decidedly left out the incident he had witnessed. In his mind's eye he saw a sickening image of a person impacting the tail of the DC-3. He shook his head to get rid of the image.

The three of them started off down the slope, towards the group of parachutes.

The young couple were sat in the grass, atop one of the folded chutes, staring ahead blankly. Adam crouched down in front of them, and saw the tears on the young woman's face, still flowing freely from her eyes. The boy had his arm around her, his face stony.

"You two okay?" Adam said.

They both nodded silently.

"Any injuries?"

They both shook their heads, the girl sniffing slightly. The boy was shaking slightly; it looked as if they were both in shock.

"Names?"

"Malinda," the girl said in a whisper.

Adam nodded, and looked to the boy, bony faced with deep set, harsh eyes. "Graham Mars."

Both of them appeared uninjured, and he was sure that they would both be fine; he decided to leave them too it, and stood up slowly, looking around. They had moved quarter of a mile downhill towards the grouping of chutes, which Ted and Matthew were now wrapping up into bundles.

There was a definite air of shock about the entire area; everybody was silent. There was no idle chat, hardly any movement. Everybody simply kept to themselves, staring blankly. The crash had put them into a state of disorientation, and it was taking a long time to wear off. By now, the sun was climbing higher into the sky, and the ocean far below them was twinkling brightly.

The red-headed woman lay against a rucksack, groaning in pain. As he crouched down next to her, she smiled weakly. The cuff of her trousers on her left leg had been rolled up to her knee. In the middle of her shin there was a reddened, painful looking swelling.

"You okay?" he said.

She looked at him, slightly incredulously. "Peachy."

"How's your leg?"

"It hurts, a lot. But it's not broken, I think."

Adam looked down at the pale flesh of her leg, and then back up to her. "You sure?"

"Yes," she said testily, her red hair flaring about her head in the bright sunlight.

"How's that? You a doctor or something?" called Ted, wiping his brow.

She shook her head. "I qualified as a nurse."

Adam smiled. "Good. We might need your services. What's your name?"

"Sarah Every," she said, breathless, wincing.

Matt walked over, his large figure casting a wide shadow over them. "Great, so everybody knows each other. What are we going to do now? In case you've forgotten, we just crash landed on an island. What are we just sitting around for?"

Adam waved him down. "Don't worry, rescue will be here soon enough; all we have to do is be patient."

"And what if nothing happens?"

"Then we'll scope out the coast," Adam said confidently. "Look, we'll be fine. I want Malinda and Graham to stay here with Sarah, and I need you two to come with me." He stood up, stretching his injured shoulder, moving his arm up and down, wincing in pain.

"Where are we going?" Ted said, piling up two neatly folded orange chutes.

"I need to find Mr. Hadlow, and bring him back here. He may be hurt."

"What about the rest of the people?" Malinda said, her voice quiet and high, pointing up at the ridge.

Adam looked up at the mountain, sighing at the column of smoke rising into the air, being swept south by the wind.

"It'll take all day to get up there, and we don't know where the other people landed."

Graham looked up. "But there are supplies up there."

Adam shook his head. "We get Mr. Hadlow first, and then we get back here. By the time we get up to the ridge it'll be too late to get back before nightfall. We have to go tomorrow."

The others didn't look happy at his decision, but nobody defied him, and they became still, looking up at the ridge. Adam flexed the fingers on the hand of his injured arm, and milled it around in a wide circle, gradually getting its use back, ignoring the sharp pain exploding like fireworks underneath his skin.

"Okay," he said, "You stay here." He motioned to the young couple and Sarah.

Ted and Matt stood behind him, on the gradual slope, leading down to the jungle, and further on the beach, miles away. Adam nodded to them, and they set off quickly towards the tall trees.


	5. Chapter 3

The jungle was dense, and dark. Matthew plunged through the jungle, his torn shirt snagging on dangling branches, threatening to lash at his exposed forearms. It was stiflingly hot underneath the canopy of trees, lying fifty feet above their heads. They were strung out in a horizontal line to the direction of their movement, carefully picking their way through the undergrowth. The ferns grew thickly, and roots popped up from the soil all over the place, tripping him up wherever he stood.

He's always been unfit for his age, but now it showed especially. His sweat soaked chest heaved against the material of his shirt, and his vision was darkened at the periphery. The air was strange here; it was as if half of the oxygen had been sucked out. The humidity made it seem as if he was using only one lung, and it made for a very hard time getting his breathing.

The pilot was off to the right, cradling his injured arm, and Ted was in the middle of them. Ted was tearing ferns out of the ground with his large, paw like hands. Matthew mused that he looked like a bear, his large figure looming four inches over the heads of the other two.

Hardly any of the light from the sun reached the ground in the jungle; most of it was cut out by the dense foliage above their heads. His vision was taking a while to adjust, and his retina's had been scarred by the brightness of the sun in the grass. All he could see was a bright green film in front of his eyes.

They were on a slight incline, slowly walking through the forest towards the coast of the island. He found himself wondering just how big this place was; from the plane he saw that it was expansive, much larger than their view from the field had allowed them. He had seen that they were somewhere near the northern tip of the island, and that it extended for many more miles to the south, and to the west.

The island was very large, and he wondered when they would see somebody else, because there was no land in the world this large that remained uninhabited. But even on the way down, had hadn't seen any clearings, or villages, no boats, or roads. No signs of human presence.

Of course, he only had a view of the tip of the island; there could be people elsewhere.

They passed a brief break in the tops of the trees, sunlight filtering down to the ground in great shafts, striking his face harshly. He squinted as he passed through it, back into the dense jungle, tearing a branch out of his way as he jumped over a log.

Graham rolled up a third parachute, alone on the slope. Malinda and Sarah sat next to the pile twenty metres away, as they had moved the chutes further down the slope to keep away from the brunt of the sun. But it hadn't worked very well, as they were still exposed in the field.

The orange material had been flattened on the grass, and he was walking across its width, one of the corners in hand. He dragged it end over end, and folded in half lengthways, running his hands along the edges to make sure it was equal.

He didn't understand why he was doing this; he guessed they could use the material for shelter, or for signalling. It was best to keep them out of the way anyway, instead of blowing around in the wind. Truthfully, he just wanted to keep his mind occupied, to prevent himself dealing with what happened. He had to keep a strong face for Malinda, and so he kept folding, pulling the fabric over the grass—

A voice whispered to him, very close. He span around; dropping the chute onto the ground, turning in a wide circle, looking for the source. There was nobody behind him; he looked over at the women, who looked back at him, wearing vague looks of confusion.

"What did you say?" he called.

They frowned. "We didn't say anything!"

The voice whispered again, harsh and loud in his ears. It sounded close. Very close.

He turned around again, but he saw nobody. He squinted into the trees, trying to pick out a face; but once again, he saw nothing more than the trunks of trees.

Another voice whispered off to the right, and this time Malinda and Sarah looked up with him. But there were no people, anywhere.

Another voice, whispered, and then another. Graham fought panic as he swerved around in a wide arc, looking for anybody. But there was nothing. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and he shivered involuntarily as he listened to the voices. There were barely comprehendible, despite their volume. He listened closely, trying to pick out a single voice, to see what there were saying.

The whispers continued, unstopping, even as he continued to spin around in the brightly lit field, desperately looking for the people making the noises. Through the cacophony of sound, he managed to pick out a single phrase.

"It's them," the voice said.

Graham's eyes darted about in their sockets, and he could see Sarah drawing into herself.

"Hello?" he called. "Hello, can you hear us?!"

There was no answer; just the unending stream of whispers.

"Hello? Help! HELP!"

But there was no answer.

Matt slammed a branch down to the ground, fighting through a thicket in his path. The other two were now behind him; they had noticed that they required less effort of themselves if they followed his path, due to his size. They were moving quickly, and it had been almost an hour since they had left the field behind. But they had no reference point, and so far there had been no other breaks in the canopy; meaning that they had no opportunity to see where they were in relation to the island, nor how far they had come.

Progress had been slow, and difficult. All of them were panting heavily, sweat coating their brows.

"So, what happened?" he called back.

"What?" said Adam.

"You know, why did we crash?"

"You tell me. We hit turbulence, nothing but clouds. Then there's this boom, and a flash of light, and we're falling down on some tropical island."

Matt laughed heartily. "Yeah, okay. You can say if you got lost and we ran out of fuel, you know."

"The engines exploded," Ted said from the back, "Is that something that sounds like a typical dry tank?"

Matt growled; he didn't like Ted already.

"Okay, so we're stuck in the middle of nowhere," he said, "What's this island called?"

"I told you; it shouldn't even be here. It's not on the map—"

Suddenly, the trees cleared. They entered a gap in the trees, the ground covered by nothing but mud, wet and slippery. Matt frowned as he saw a tall, stone walled well, positioned in the middle of the clearing, a thick rope lying by its side, dangling over the edge.

The men stopped in their tracks as they stepped into the clearing, towards the well. They looked at each other, and then to the well.

"I told you this place was inhabited," Matt said.

He leaned over the edge of the well, looking down into the darkness. He couldn't see anything down there, but the little light available to him allowed him to see down at least eight feet before blackness consumed the stone walls. It was very deep.

He picked up a rock from the ground, and dropped it down. He watched the stone glint in the light as it fell, disappearing into the dark. He tilted his head to the side, turning his ear towards the lip of the well. He waited over ten seconds before he heard the stone hit the floor. But instead of a splash, he heard a dull thud, and the clatter of rock against rock.

"Empty?" Adam said.

"Sounds like it," Ted murmured.

Deep down in the well, there was a twinkling sound, distant yet definite. It reminded Matt of bells.

They all looked around, trying to see somebody in the underbrush.

"If the well is here, then people must be close."

And then he heard a voice, in the jungle. It was nothing more than a whisper, but it was loud, as if amplified. The voice was strange, and hazy. Another voice emanated from behind them, and then a third. Soon there were voices all around them. Ted looked at him, frowning.

"Hello?" Adam said hesitantly.

The whispers didn't respond to him.

"Go," they said, one after the other, overlapping each other. "Go. Go now. Get away. The well. Get away."

It was creepy. There was no sound of movement; just voices.

"Hello?" Adam said again, "Can you help us?"

The voices changed immediately, and they said in unison, "The Others are coming."

They all looked at each other, and then to the jungle.

"I don't like this," Matt said. "I've read about some of those tribes that live on deserted islands. Cannibals and such, you know?"

But these voices didn't sound savage, not tribal. They spoke simple English, educated, and scary. "Get away," the said, still overlapping. The sounds were coming from everywhere, and they backed away from the well, looking warily around them. The voices continued.

"Go!"

"The well—Don't look."

"The Others are coming."

"It's them."

Adam moved off towards the other side of the clearing quickly, motioning for them to follow. Matt hesitated for a moment, looking around them, and then ran after him.


End file.
